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This is a question Things you can't unsee...

The Eightball Says Yes wimpers, "Waiting for a bus on Upper Street, Islington twenty years ago I was approached by a very old and very potty woman. She must have been 80.
"She was licking her lips salaciously and saying 'fuck me, fuck me.' She then lifted her skirt to show me her fanny. I looked, I ran, I wish I could rinse my mind out, but the image remains."

Tell us and the internet what you cannot unsee

(, Fri 13 Feb 2015, 13:42)
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Holy Mary Mother of God
A gorgeous young lady once asked me along to a dinner party hosted by her boss. I reluctantly agreed because I wanted to be a good friend. A really good friend who would hold her tight and run his fingers through her long raven hair. An exceptionally good friend who would nuzzle her slender neck and whisper in her ear “ Cette sauce de haute qualite” etc. I yearned to fondle her velvet soft young breasts and gently stimulate her nipples. I was desperate to stroke the fine hairs on her lower back and to move my hand around to her soft warm belly; my fingers to explore the elastic around the top of her skimpy black satin panties. I could imagine our pulses racing as I slipped my fingers under the elastic and over her downy mound. My middle finger sliding down to the hot, slippery , soft … Er, mm, wait a minute what was the question? Oh yes.
Bernadette was a primary school teacher at a Catholic school. Her Headteacher was a nun and the Chair of Governors was the local priest. The priest was holding the dinner party for the Head and a few selected staff of the school. We arranged to arrive at the priest’s house at half seven. She would travel with her colleagues and I would arrive alone. I set off in good time because I wasn’t sure exactly where I was going and in pre-satnav days I had to rely on the old A to Z and asking passers -by for directions. As it happened, I arrived at the large Victorian house twenty minutes too early so I parked up round the back and had a fag. It was a late November evening and the rear of the house was shrouded in mist and darkness.
I’d hardly finished my fag when a light flicked on at the tradesmen’s entrance. If I could use that it would save me trekking round the side of the house back to the main entrance. Before my finger reached the doorbell though, I froze. Through the frosted glass I could see the Headteacher, in full nun’s garb, kneeling in prayer in the narrow corridor. Before her with his back to the wall stood the priest and he was resting his hand on her head. A touching moment of quiet religious reflection, I mused. Her head started to rock back and forth, very slowly at first but then increasingly faster. When she then moved her head back further, the black cloth thing on her head drew back like a curtain to reveal a very erect, and not one to be ashamed of, penis. I was in my twenties, they were both in their fifties. I was traumatised.
I beat a hasty retreat round to the front entrance and joined the other dinner party guests. I endured the following three hours bemused and bewildered as we all made polite small talk, not fully realising that the image of those two would stay with me forever.
And Bernadette? She dumped me after I had told her what I had seen because she was convinced it couldn't be true.
(, Sat 14 Feb 2015, 14:08, 4 replies)
oh man, I always loved 'readers letters'

(, Sat 14 Feb 2015, 18:42, closed)

(, Mon 16 Feb 2015, 11:56, closed)
Nah, sorry to disappoint.
You have reminded me however of an incident involving a local man my teenage friends and I knew as Blind Bernard.He was visually impaired,surprisingly,and a raving paedo with a liking for young boys.I'll save that story for later though.
(, Mon 16 Feb 2015, 15:18, closed)
Look, Bernard!
I'm a prostitute robot from the future!
(, Mon 16 Feb 2015, 15:59, closed)

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